and then our exile

the prairies spread about, wheat-fields become stubble reaching through patches of snow, reaching down into the north saskatchewan river, into bare tree-line criss-crossing earth. but the sky defines land, it stretches and arcs, it is silent, and silent is simple in its speech, of things which themselves can take no words.

last night we pulled over to the side of the gravel road leading from the farm to the city, and came to see the stars. because i have never seen these stars before, and because i stood in the middle of the country road in darkest night and turned and turned, silence tinged with guilt, as always with the abyss we call honesty, until the sky flung through and through with more stars than i knew existed, cast across the darkness, with the viscous milky way streaming as the most real divide, and the tiny sharp pin-points, all rippled and heaved and bore down upon me - turned until the gravel under my shoes threatened to pitch me onto itself, to be flung upwards, to disappear into ether.
i steadied myself, walked to the other side of the car where noor & ammi were pointing out constellations.

and so that was christmas; war is over, if you want it. mass of christ, the signal to freeload on fudge, oranges, tea, cookies, nuts, and chocolate of every sort. saskatoon again, red socks for a birthday, sheep-sorting and snowballs from rows of round haybales and a white picket fence; family-time.

in edmonton a week ago, i noticed a bumper sticker saying PROTECT THE WEST: NO KYOTO! NO WHEAT BOARD! NO GUN REGISTRY!. i laughed, shook my head, then read it again. in a world where some costs of growing wheat have increased 25% over the course of a single year, the wheat board gives a lone source of stability.

home to news that four have gone public. more on this in a few hours.